


Unscene Moments

by Apfelessig



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Bro-ship, Grief/Mourning, Humour, Incomplete, Multi, Scheming, Stand-alone chapters, but still enjoyable as is, likely abandoned tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig/pseuds/Apfelessig
Summary: How does Lady Capulet grieve and Lady Montague scheme? What memories does Benvolio have of his friends? What else have Isabella and Escalus argued about? And Rosaline?These short glimpses hope to fill out and colour in some of the characters and in-between moments in our lovely Still Star-Crossed universe.Latest chapter: trapped between riots and romance, Escalus comes up with The Plan.





	1. In solitude we rise (crumble)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenofchildren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/gifts), [TheSushiMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/gifts), [rhombus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhombus/gifts).



Sometimes, God help her, she forgets.

The first time is after the first long sleep of the recently bereaved, brought about after two nights of waking grief and a large flask of soothing herbal brew insisted upon by the Nurse, _no arguments, my lady_. In the mid-morning light, she returns from her dreamless slumber like molten lead, blissfully unaware. She oozes slowly into the shape of her body, filling the crevices of her habitual thoughts and memories and she remembers. It nearly kills her all over again, the shame of it.

Life must go on and the lady of a house has duties and responsibilities that will not be left wanting. Giuliana rises to them with marble grace. Her resolve will be an example to Verona, even as it hardens into a shriveled bezoar in her gut.

There are balls to attend to, and as she strides down the stairs in full palatial dress, she catches the eye of a maid, "Will you _tell_ that girl to hurry up, we will be _late_ , her head is ever full of air," then turns to call up to the second landing, "Juli _et!_ " The silence rings in her head like a gong, rendering her without sense as she sinks slowly to the stair, barely acknowledging the maid who bobs a curtsy and hurries away.

Cruelest of all is when she wants to forget, but can't. Hunched over like a heaving cat as if to expel her sorrow through her throat, her eyes, her nose, head filled with images of first steps and first words and first dances, she _begs_ to forget, entreats any saint that will listen. It's Nursey who answers the call, every time, lifts her from the cold stone floors onto her bed, sends a maid for a flask of the friar's nerve tonic, pets her hair like a mother would...

Once, she visits the gardens, lured outside by sweet birdsong and fragrant blooms. The roses erase themselves from her attention, so familiar are they in their cultured rows and blocks. She moves along the garden walls and pauses below a trailing honeysuckle vine. A bee lands softly on a pale pink cluster and disappears within the petals. Such is her focused wonder she can see the pollen on its legs when it reemerges, its busy jaw, its searching head. She reaches out to her side.

"Juliet, my sweet—"

Her hand brushes air and a chilling wind blows through her ribs as if they were laid bare to the world. She doesn't need to look, for she has already stepped outside of herself, fixating on the tableau of her in her black crêpe gown, a dark shadow of ill vapours amidst sunlit flora, reaching out to an empty space that will never be filled again.

\- - -

Tessa Montague _never_ forgets. 

In the warmth of Verona's open and bleeding heart, she stands looking over the courtyard and feels Scotland on her skin. She still smells the peat and wild heather. She remembers the chill from the flagstones, the only to ever match her own, and the woods she would watch with a careful, calculating eye. 

She remembers the blood. And she remembers his _weakness_. 

Enough, she thinks. For all the sagas and bard's tales and, her face sours, _histories_ she has heard, you would think the world overflowing with resourceful and driven men, drawing upon an inner strength as if from an otherworldly potion. If nought else, one would assume that such traits would have survived to the present day. 

Her own experiences only confirm that behind, beside, underneath, and indeed, within, the appearance of a strong man, a stronger and colder woman wields the knife.

She smiles thinly. Well, that suits her just fine.

Still, she is not the only determined force in this world. Her manipulations have left... tailings, those who would wish to see her one head-length shorter. She's traveled strategically, crossing channels and borders between precariously allied states. Should another civil disagreement break out, the last information to be shared would be of a red-haired woman and her whereabouts.

Verona is a retreat, undoubtedly, a step into the secure, but Lady Montague does not cower, she plans.

And as she watches a scruffy-haired youth step into the Montague courtyard, her plans crystallize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuleikha Robinson was pain and elegance incarnate as Giuliana Capulet. Claire Cooper served up Lady Montague like an ice cold volcano. I went all tingly when she showed up.


	2. Between the sinners and the saints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by that sob-inducing "Death doesn't discriminate" gifset I keep seeing on Tumblr.

Benvolio stops short. 

"No. No, this cannot be. Not even you can be this fickle, Romeo."

Mercutio falls against the wall chuckling. "Our dreamer has turned a nightmare into a daydream! Such a skill should be bottled and sold."

The third of the trio wears the serene smile of a holy man and throws his arms wide. In the narrow alley, people jostle past them.

"It is as I say. I am reborn, newly baptized in the waters of love."

"Are they so shallow?" Mercutio asks, closing his eyes against the afternoon sun. "Or have the dancing lights dazzled you?" 

"Like sunlight eclipsing the moon," Romeo beams at him, walking on. Mercutio steps forward languidly to join him leaving Benvolio still in a mild state of shock.

"No, coz," Benvolio says, grasping at fleeting reason, "last I saw you, you were two cups deep into your own sorrows, mooning over—her name, Mercutio—"

"Rosaline, O rapturous, reclusive—"

"—yes, and a Capulet, and now you are transformed by another? Is there a power these women hold over you, something in their name that vexes your blood?" He strides quickly to match Romeo's pace, dodging the occasional merchant's stall.

"Not just his blood," Mercutio jabs. "Such a smile I know well and it is not an unsatisfied one. Tell me, does the rose prick?"

Romeo raises his hands in mock defence. "A nobleman does not share his conquests—"

"Since _when?_ " Mercutio howls. 

"—and I have nothing to share, lest you want to hear of love."

This elicits heartfelt groans from his friends. Mercutio draws a soliloquy-length breath, which Benvolio heads off at the pass.

"By all the saints, stop, I have heard enough of love." He hesitates as a weight sinks in his gut. His voice turns somber. "Romeo, your father will kill you."

"No, he will kill us," Mercutio says, cheerfully, "or rather you, as the elder Montague, for not intervening to preserve your family's honour."

"I hardly believe he thinks me capable of identifying my family's honour," Benvolio mutters. 

"And he would never raise a hand against his darling son, no, the _Capulets_ will come for you," Mercutio says with finality.

"Then they raise arms against one of their own," Romeo says, grinning. "For we are already as one, Juliet and I. Our hearts are bonded, our minds inseparable."

Mercutio makes a sweeping gesture. "Faith, I may yet have it in me to puke. Or weep, to see my friend so addled. My sorrow dulls my sharp rebuke, to see your loins with monogamy saddled."

Romeo rises to the bait with nary a pause, "You should rejoice, for in these streets, it's love that paves the path to peace."

Benvolio shakes his head. "This will only beget more violence. Our streets can barely take any more."

"Hark how he plays the gentle man," Mercutio winks at Romeo. 

"Speak plainly, I _beg_ you."

Mercutio slides an arm around Benvolio's shoulders. "You have a temper beneath that wide-eyed stare and hand-grappled hair."

"I do _not_ ," Benvolio says. "Hand-grappled?"

"By your sweet lady fair, for the right fare." Mercutio digs his fingers deep into the locks, to Romeo's laughter. Benvolio shakes off his friend with a playful shove.

"Ever full of rhymes, and not a lick of sense between the pair of you."

Mercutio gasps, wounded. 

"Sense? You consider me senseless? Romeo, tell me, who was it confronted the art merchant near the plaza, oh, three days ago, over the likeness of our dear Royal Regent? Was it not this bittermelon here?"

"There was no likeness. A _child_ could have done better."

"And what riled spirit of vengeance drew his sword on a man who was mistreating his horse?"

"I do recall you proclaiming to the world a boycott on a merchant selling overpriced leatherwork," Romeo adds.

Benvolio pauses, smiling. "Call it a strong opinion."

"What? No sharp words for your beloved cousin?" Mercutio's hand covers his heart. "You offend me, good sir, me and all my _sensibilities_." 

They reach the end of the alley and step into the petal-strewn plaza. Mercutio turns, head raised, arms stretched out. "Was there ever as fine a day as this?"

They fall silent, unusually, as the heated fragrance of leather, dye and food seeps into their skin. A breeze carries smells of earth and stone, dust and cypresses. Benvolio and Romeo follow suit, close their eyes, and breathe it in.

It's peaceful.

Mercutio pulls them back with a clap on their backs. "Come friends, let us eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write :)
> 
> I gave myself a sad when I realized this was probably the last time Benvolio had any kind of physical affection he didn't have to pay for... Thankfully, Rosaline comes into his life <3


	3. Needs must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mere hours pass between Escalus watching the love of his life rush into violent streets to save her sister, and marrying her off to her worst enemy. Here's the missing piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I rewatched Episode 1 and it doesn't _quite_ fit, for which I'm eternally kicking myself, but I want to present this scene nonetheless.

_Verona has come undone._

He grips the back of the chair with both his hands and breathes out, a slow steady stream. If he can hold himself together, he can hold it all together. There is nothing beyond his reach. Rule by reason, and hold the good of the city in the highest esteem.

_Rosaline._

If only he could _think_. The sounds of fighting reach him even here, high on the upper floors of the palace. His hands tighten on the upholstered silk. Riots, in his city, under his rule, a complete and utter failing of his charge.

_Father—_

The opening door wrenches him back to the present. His relief at seeing Isabella unharmed braces in the face of her brisk advance.

"Will you hear me now, brother," she all but spits, "that unity within must be our priority?"

He keeps his face steady. "We must dispatch the guard to maintain order—"

"They've been dispatched!" she says sharply, "though they will not suffice to stop this city tearing itself to pieces."

"Have the noblemen been secured? The court?"

"Your _concern_ should be on future action, Escalus, else these riots will confirm to the city and your friends abroad that we are unequal to the task of Verona's rule." 

There's barely a flicker in his face but a spasm jerks through his gut.

"We must quash the riots first, after that—" His hand grips the chair, then releases and hangs stiffly by his side. "We must appeal to both sides. The deaths of their children is yet too strong but in time, they will see reason."

Isabella stiffens, a sign of her temper rising. "Montagues and Capulets command the cityfolk's allegiance at a word. The death of two lovestruck innocents will not provide the balm to heal this rift—"

"What would you have me do?" he booms, stepping forward to face her. "This feud defies all rationality and springs from a century-old grudge!"

The words ring in the small room. Brother and sister wait for their ruffled feathers to settle, a familiar routine since childhood. 

"A union cannot thrive from a love steeped in tragedy and death," Isabella says, more quietly, "but a living union, made from two willing, happy, devoted heirs..."

"A _living_ union?" His expression is wooden. "Who do you propose for this, Romeo was Lord Montague's sole heir."

"He will provide a substitute, when we ask. Another relation."

"Lord Capulet will not," Escalus scoffs, "Juliet was his only child." 

Isabella waits with composed patience as Escalus arrives at the same conclusion. His earlier mask slips to the floor.

"No, absolutely not."

"She is the only eligible candidate."

"This _will not_ happen."

"Think for the crown, Escalus," she snaps, "not yourself. A wedding between Montague and Capulet is the only way this city can not split its allegiance to either family."

"And the power will be held under the Montague name, have you considered that? Instead of two houses at our throats, we have one, empowered beyond peer."

_And her name will be Rosaline Montague and I will have lost her forever._

"The crown can handle one overambitious estate holder. Lord Montague is interested in expansion and making his mark upon civil interests." Isabella inclines her head. "He is a businessman, not a ruler. He would find the crown restrictive."

"There must be another way. We can enforce a curfew, increase patrols. Provide an opportunity for both families to invest in—"

"Do you not think we thought the same?" Isabella cuts in, and the weight of their father's memory drops like lead between them. "Reason will have no place where emotion can reign. Money will not unite them. Blood can."

_I haven't even talked to her. I haven't seen her smile once._

His thoughts rage only in his eyes, but Isabella knows him well. "Consider this, brother. A lord will require a lady to wed. Through this marriage, Rosaline will be Lady Capulet once more." She waits for this to take effect. "She'll return to court."

With those words, he knows already that he's lost. 

"And Livia—?" he begins but doesn't continue. To even suggest that the younger Capulet replace her older sister as the heir is not only inconceivable in this court but smacks of desperation. 

He turns away and moves toward the window. Through the dim, cloud-filtered light, the sounds of the streets are an iron hailstorm. "She will not agree to this."

"It is not her place to disagree," Isabella says, coldly. "You are her sovereign and it is your decree that her marriage will serve Verona's well-being."

"Her parents," is all he says and finally his sister's marble veneer softens.

"It will be difficult for her," she concedes. "But Verona's fate hangs in the balance. The city must outweigh personal grudges, no matter how... close to home."

Half a minute passes in silence. Escalus pats the stone window sill absently, then closes his hand into a fist and raps on it sharply.

"Send a messenger to Lords Montague and Capulet. Have them brought to the Throne Hall immediately with their heirs."

He doesn't meet Isabella's gaze as she nods and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ElasticElla for inadvertently helping me with Isabella's characterization and openmouthwideeye for helping me flesh out Escalus.


End file.
